Flu Like Symptoms
by bisexualcharliedavis
Summary: Whumptober day 3: Charlie has a cold


A/N: Day 3... I am very behind. This was written for an alt prompt because the main one just wasnt speaking to me. enjoy!

...

If he was logical, he knew that he should keep the blanket on. But he's just so hot.

He kicked the blanket off, and curled over onto his side, hoping the cool August air would give him some relief from the constant hot pulling sensation all over his body. For a few moments, it did.

Downstairs, he knew Jean had a fire going so it wasn't that cool inside, but it was just enough. If he thought he could control his fingers enough, he would have tried to unbutton his pajama shirt in an effort to maximize his skin to cold air exposure. But he also knew that Mattie or Jean was liable to come in at any time since sick people apparently forfeit any right to privacy.

He wasn't so sick that he'd lost all his ability to think rationally, just sick enough to be miserable.

Charlie didn't really want people coming in here without knocking, no matter how sick he was. He'd spent his entire life sharing a bedroom and sometimes a bed with his younger siblings, and now he'd managed to find just a bit of privacy he was extremely hesitant to sacrifice it; no matter how dire his need for a Bex was.

Speaking of Bex, his head hurt. A lot, actually. Great, something else to add his already extensive catalog of symptoms. He thought about getting up and wandering into the kitchen. He didn't know what time it was, owing to the cool kitchen towel someone had seen fit to give him last time his self imposed exile was intruded upon.

Probably Blake.

Just have easily could have been Jean or Mattie. But he ranked Blake as first, then Jean and Mattie last because she was working at the hospital and it would be a bit bad for her to bring in whatever heinous disease he'd managed to pick up. Usually, he was pretty good at not getting sick. Being exposed to it when his brothers got sick probably worked in his favor then.

His brothers. Too damn many of them, he thought, though he knew that he wouldn't trade a single one of them for the world. That was something that Ballarat couldn't possibly replicate. Certainly, he didn't always get along with them, but he did love them. Even Ray, who had always, even as a child, managed to get on his last nerve.

Damn it! He was late calling Mum tonight. He really didn't fancy getting up but he needed to call her and make sure she was okay. Maybe he was just being over protective, but he'd been protecting his mother since he was fifteen and he didn't intend to stop just because some bastard managed to convince her that a leopard could change its spots.

With great reluctance, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the movement making him feel light headed. He stood, and felt as though the entire slipped out from underneath him. Suddenly finding himself going sideways, he desperately grasped at his nightstand, managing to stop himself face planting the floor.

Good.

There was a loud crashing noise as his alarm clock fell off the table and landed on the floor.

Bad.

He hadn't even felt the accursed object that dragged him out of sleep every morning, but he'd managed to knock it from his table to the floor. He stared at it, realizing that he'd also dislodged the cool tea towel, which was now lying between his bare feet.

"Oh thank God."

"Huh?" He said, looking up to see the door to his exile chamber open, and a figure standing in the light from the outside hallway. There was no light coming in from his shut window; it must be night time his brain caught up.

"I thought you'd fallen." The figure, Blake that much he could tell, said.

"Why?" He managed to ask, as Blake, now apparently superhuman in speed, assisted him in getting back into bed. He was wearing that blue quilted robe decorated with exotic looking dragons. Secretly, Charlie had always been sort of fascinated by it, and the other Asian decorations and such Blake kept around the place. Not enough to inquire about it though, lest be bring down a lecture about history upon himself.

It must be late if Blake was wearing his pajamas. Charlie felt bad about waking him up.

"What were you trying to do?" Blake asked as he tugged the blanket up again. Charlie wanted to tell him he could do it himself but he wasn't sure he could; so he kept his mouth shut.

"I have to call my Mum." He said, knowing full well he sounded pathetic.

"I don't think she would appreciate you calling her at two thirty in the morning." He said, gently.

"Two thirty?" He asked, realizing it was much, much later than he thought it was. "It's late."

"Early, actually." Blake replied, and knelt with a grunt to pick up Charlie's poor alarm clock. He walked the two steps to the desk and flicked on the lamp to see the damage. The light was too much, and Charlie closed his eyes and looked away. There were a few moments of quiet before the lamp went off and he felt it was safe to open his eyes again. Then a soft click as his alarm clock went down on the table.

"Just dented," Lucien assured him and put the wet tea towel onto his desk as well. "I turned off the alarm. You need all the sleep you can get, not to be up and at 'em at six o'clock."

"I need to go to work." Charlie mumbled, "Munro-"

"I will deal with Munro." Unconvinced Charlie tried to fix him with what he hoped was a hard look. It didn't seem very effective, because Lucien just patted his cheek good-naturedly. "By delivering him with a doctor's certificate stating that your being ill would impact your ability to work." Pause. "Have a little faith Charlie."

He tried to say that Blake didn't make it easy for him to do that, but it came out as a groan. Lucien gave him another pat on the cheek.

"Goodnight, Charlie."

And then, Charlie was alone in his room again.


End file.
